


Misery (Doesn't) Love Company

by TantalumCobalt



Series: It's a Twin Thing [2]
Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Again, Brother fic, Brotherly feels, Clint and Will are twins, Clint is an awesome big brother, Clint is worried, Crossover, Gen, Injured William, Natasha is a good friend, Not Really Canon Compliant, Pre-Ghost Protocol, Sick Will, Sickfic, Will's in hospital, pre-avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TantalumCobalt/pseuds/TantalumCobalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will really does have the worst of luck, and he always seems to end up in hospital for some reason or another. But it's okay because big brother Clint is always there to make things better, even when Will is feeling miserable and fed up with people and doctors and hospitals and pretty much everything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery (Doesn't) Love Company

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long, I just haven't had a chance to post in the last two months.
> 
> This story was partially inspired by PewterGreyWolf's comment on 'By His Bedside' so thank you to him/her!! I haven't really written sick fics before but Will was just begging to be tortured and that's what this one kind of turned into.
> 
> I hope you enjoy and I'd love to have some feedback about what you guys would like to see Will and Clint (and anyone else) get up to :)

Clint's back is to the room, staring out the window at the grey sky and soundless city life below. Will thinks about calling out to him, getting his brother to turn around so he can see his identical face, tell him he's okay, but the words don't come. He bites his lip instead.

Clint sighs and lifts a hand to trace patterns in the condensation his breath forms on the glass. Will is content just to watch through half-lidded eyes. 

There are wisps of pain on the edge of his subconscious, but it's masked by the swirling haze of blessed painkillers. He makes a note to thank the doctor for giving him the good stuff when he (she?) comes in.

\--

"Welcome to the land of the living, bro."

_Argh. What happened to the painkillers?_

"You alright?"

_What do you think? I was shot._

_"_ Will? Should I get the doctor?"

_'M fine. Jus' hurts._

_"_ I'll get the doctor."

_Don't feel well, Clint..._

_"_ I'll be back. Hold on a sec."

\--

Will doesn't eat the food they leave on the bedside table. He's not sure if it's the pain in his shoulder (so much for the good stuff) or the cocktail of meds or a combination of both but he feels sick to his stomach and he's sure that if he even takes a bite he'll just throw it up again.

Clint frowns over the top of a trashy secondhand paperback that he probably stole from the nurse's station. Will turns away. Doesn't meet his brother's searching gaze.

\--

"We talking today?"

_You talk every day._

_"_ I brought you tea. Thought coffee might not be good with your meds but... Well I figured you'd want something that doesn't taste like hospital food."

_It's too hot..._

_"_ I saw Nat last night. She asked about you."

_Why doesn't she come visit?_

_"_ You gonna say anything?"

_'M hot, Clint. Why am I shivering?_

"I can't just talk at you forever, Will. They won't let you out of here if you don't say anything."

\--

The doctor comes in before she finishes her shift at midnight. Clint's asleep, half in the overstuffed armchair that he'd dragged out of the corner, half sprawled over the end of the bed.

"How are you feeling, Mr Brandt?" The doctor asks. Her tight, professional bun is coming undone, wisps of dyed brown hair falling down to frame her unattractive face. She sends Clint's snoring form a disapproving look.

Will shrugs his good shoulder. He feels like crap. His shoulder is throbbing, he can't keep cool and he can't keep warm, the meds are making him woozy (he thinks it's the meds...) and Clint's poorly concealed worry is making him jumpy.

The doctor purses her lips. "I'm going to need a little more to go on if you want to be released this week, Mr Brandt."

Will lets his eyes slide shut. _'M fine. Can you go away now?_

There's an audible sigh and then the sound of papers being rustled and buttons being pushed and IV bags being switched out. Each sharp click of the doctor's stumpy heels on the linoleum floor drives nails through Will's head and makes his stomach turn.

He just wants to go home.

\--

"Let's go somewhere sunny."

_I don't wanna go on holidays._

"How about Jamaica? 

_No._

"Yeah, you're right. Too humid. Sydney?"

_No._

"Sydney it is. I'll book flights for a month away. You think you'll be up to flying then?"

_Clint-_

"Y'know it probably doesn't matter. We can just take Stark's jet. Yeah, let's do that."

_I don't-_

"You think matching Hawaiian shirts would be too much?"

\--

Will takes a deep breath and let's it out through his nose. His stomach is roiling from the nauseating combination of too many different types of medication and the stabbing pain curling in tendrils down his arms and across his torso and creeping up the back of his neck to drill into the base of his skull. And it's too damn cold again.

_Fuck._  He can't remember the last time he felt so bad.

"Will?"

Clint's soft voice is like shards of glass through his already pounding head. Will lurches forward. Thinks he's going to be sick. Firery pain engulfs his shoulder:

"Will? What's wrong?"

The cloying scent of leather and polish when Clint leans closer is too much for Will's frayed senses and rebelling stomach. He considers it lucky that he manages to avoid his brother's shoes when he throws up the meagre amount of food he'd managed to eat for dinner.

\--

"You know, I had to bribe the nurse with donuts to see you after visiting hours."

_I just want to sleep, Clint._

_"_ Mum and dad wanted to come down when they heard your wound got infected. I managed to convince them you're not up for company just yet."

_Then why are you still here?_

_"_ I wasn't just going to leave you here alone though. I know how much you hate hospitals."

_Then get me out of here._

_"_ Don't worry, I got Nat to feed your goldfish while you're not home."

\--

When the door creaks open around noon, Will keeps his eyes closed and breathing steady. He'd spent half the night dozing fitfully and the other half feeling too hot or too cold or too sick or too sore to sleep. He's exhausted and grumpy and so not in the mood to deal with the doctor or the nurse or whoever it is right now. 

"Mr Brandt?"

Will keeps his breathing even. Tries not to move.

"He's asleep," a voice murmurs. Clint.

The nurse (the nice one from the sound of how hard she's trying to be quiet) putters around the hospital room as she checks his vitals and changes his IV bags. There are three of them now. They must have added antibiotics while he was sleeping.

Cool fingers tickle his burning skin when the nurse peels back the top of his hospital gown to check the bandages. Will tries not to flinch. That would give the game away.

There's an absence of cool hands. Retreating footsteps. Door clicking shut.

"You can stop pretending now. I know you're awake."

Will ignores his brother. Focuses on breathing deeply. Maybe it will help him fall asleep so he can actually get some rest and get out of this godforsaken place.

\--

"I brought a bag for you."

_A bag?_

_"_ I thought you might like clean clothes to wear when you're released."

_So thoughtful._

_"_ I spoke to your doctor. She said you'll be free to go tomorrow if she can get some kind of positive response from you."

_I don't like her, Clint._

"Stop sulking, Will, and start talking. It's getting really annoying having to make up your side of the conversation."

\--

Will frowns. He's been sitting on the edge of the bed for five minutes now, starring at his watch strap and trying to stop his hands from shaking long enough to do it up.

"Let me help."

Clint hovers. All he's been doing for the last few days is hovering.

It's driving Will nuts. Just like his stupid watch and his stupid hands and his stupid- stupid-

The watch bounces off the glass and lands a foot from the wall below the window sill.

\-- 

"It's a thirty minute drive back to your apartment, but we've got to stop off at the pharmacy for your drugs first."

_I know how long it takes to get to my own place, Clint._

_"_ You going to be alright in the car?"

_I'm not a child._

_"_ Nat said she'll be here in ten minutes. You sure you're okay?"

_I'm fine. How many times do I have to say it?_

_"_ Here, let me carry your bag. You sign the discharge papers."

\--

The drugs are still mostly in effect when they leave the hospital and Will spends the first twenty minutes of the car ride sleeping, head pillowed on Clint's shoulder in the backseat. He only wakes to Clint gently shaking his leg when they pull up at the pharmacy.

His brother doesn't say anything, just shifts Will's head so he's leaning against the window instead. A seatbelt is undone. Cool air rushes into the car. The door slams shut.

Will finds that he misses his brother's warmth.

"Hey there, sleepyhead."

Will blinks the fog from his brain. Red hair. Green eyes. Worried smile.

_Natasha._

He stares at her a little longer. Isn't sure what to say. She's twisted around In the front seat to lean into the back. It looks uncomfortable.

"Clint said you're not talking?"  

It's not a question. Why does it sound like a question?

Natasha arches an expectant eyebrow. Will wets dry, chapped lips. Swallows.

"Hey." His voice is raspy from disuse. One quiet word is all that scrapes past his raw throat.

Natasha smiles. 

Will smiles back.

(Clint will be pissed that he spoke to Nat first.)

\--

"You shouldn't move so much. Your shoulder is going to hurt for a while."

"Yea- _ow!_ Fuck. Noted." 

"I did warn you, bro."

"You're a condescending ass."

"Yeah, yeah, love you too."

\--

Will groans as he leans back against the raised pillows on his bed. _(His bed. Finally!)_  "Ow. Being shot hurts like a bitch."

Clint snorts. Props his crossed ankles up on the end of the bed. "Yeah. Been there, done that, didn't bother to get the t-shirt."

Will squints at him. Thinks about making a snappy comment. Decides he can't be bothered.

Clint lazily flicks the lamp switch. Darkness floods the room. "Stop bitching, bro. I can feel your whinging from here. Take your drugs and get some rest."

Will smacks his brother's hand away. Fumbles with the lamp until the dim light illuminates the room once more. "No drugs."

"I can feel your pain."

Will's brow creases and his lips turn down. "No drugs."

His older brother arches an eyebrow, reaching out to snag a book on aeronautics from the bedside table. "You okay?"

Will gives him points for asking instead of just delving into his mind. "'M fine."

"You sure?" Clint identical blue eyes lock onto Will's.

"Yeah. Jus' tired."

Clint looks doubtful but his eyes leave Will's and return to the book in his hands. "You know, you could have just told the doctors you were feeling sick and they would have found the infection sooner and they probably would have released you days ago."

Will hums an agreement as he closes his eyes. They've had this argument before. Admittedly, it had been mostly one sided, but Will's still not in the mood to hear it again.

Silence reigns for several minutes, save for Will's restless shifting and Clint's page turning, then the younger Barton brother cracks an eye open to peer out at the grey clouds scuttling across the sky outside the bedroom window.

"So what were you saying about a holiday in the sun?"

Clint grins. 

Will grins back.

(Nat just rolls her eyes as she watches them fondly from the bedroom doorway.)


End file.
